The Aquila Project (6 page)

‘Yes, sir, I believe I can. Prussia would invade Russia, and then France would send her huge army to Russia’s aid. And then, I suppose—’

‘And then, you suppose, Box, that Britain would be drawn into the conflict. Well, you may be right. We’ve no open alliance with either Germany or Russia, but if it seemed that Prussia was to disappear under a pincer movement, and the balance of power in Europe destroyed, then, I think we would be forced to act.’

‘What would we do?’

‘Well, some kind of hasty alliance with Austria-Hungary would be botched up, and in we’d go. That’s what Sir Charles Napier told me last week when I visited him at the Foreign Office. As a nation, we’d gain nothing from the exercise. There would be
thousands
of deaths. The usual European story. When it comes to the
push, Box, Europe and Britain have nothing in common. Our destiny lies elsewhere.’

‘And what would happen when the war ended?’

‘There would be a settlement, Box, in which the idea of
recreating
Poland as a buffer state, its borders guaranteed by the Great Powers, would be a serious possibility. In fact, the idea has been mooted in the chancelleries of Europe for the past five years. Prince Orloff – you remember Prince Orloff, the Russian Ambassador? – Orloff spoke quite enthusiastically of the idea when I saw him last month at the Queen’s Dra wing-Room.’

‘But I thought the Tsar wasn’t interested in Poland?’ said Box.

‘He isn’t, but you’re forgetting, Box, that he will have been assassinated like his father Alexander II before him: that would be the spark that ignited the power-keg of conflict. There would be a new tsar in St Petersburg, and you can be quite sure that promises of French gold and French arms would make the new tsar see sense. Russia would retain her growing friendship with France, and, to balance that, Britain might at long last forge a military and naval alliance with the Kaiser, in order, as always, to preserve the balance of power. The Kaiser would be delighted.’

‘The larger vision,’ said Box softly.

‘Yes, Box,’ said Kershaw. ‘It’s the way I have to think. Your strength, as you know, is your ability to sift through the minutiae of a situation and bring important facts to the light of day. Now, let me tell you about Grunwalski.

‘In February of this year I began to prepare Grunwalski for his mission to infiltrate this amorphous group of hotheads. I didn’t know who they were – I still don’t – but I knew that they’d be very interested in a man of Polish origin who was rapidly acquiring a reputation as a desperate anarchist. He had been furnished with a history, which included his involvement in a number of unsolved assassinations of minor figures in various regions of the Russian Empire. All fiction, of course, but fiction of a very persuasive kind. My own particular rumour mill spread
his fame abroad, and stressed the fact that he was a crack shot, particularly with a pistol.’

‘Was your man in Memel part of that rumour mill?’

‘No, Box. You see, my man in Memel was stabbed to death in his house, which was then set on fire. No one was brought to book for his murder. One day, I have no doubt, his death will be avenged. Something similar happened to one of Sir Charles Napier’s people, a man called Paul Claus.

‘When I called on Napier recently, he told me that this Paul Claus, his contact in Berlin, was able to confirm that this Polish conspiracy undoubtedly existed, and that a group of people known as The Thirty were associated with them. Claus also mentioned a plan of theirs, “The Aquila Project”. That’s all anybody knows about this new threat to the peace and stability of Europe.’

‘And what happened to this Paul Claus?’

‘He was stabbed to death in Berlin on 17 May last. First my man in Memel, then Sir Charles’s man in Berlin. It’s all part of a familiar and depressing pattern.’

‘What did you do with Grunwalski when you were ready to deploy him?’

‘I caused Grunwalski to surface into his particular underworld in the middle of April. He took lodgings in Bethnal Green, and set about acquiring a reputation as a dangerous ruffian. To my intense satisfaction, he was approached almost immediately by agents of this group of potential assassins. He was very discreet, but was able to pass information to me by contacting one or two of my nobodies – you know the kind of people I mean. I knew, by the middle of May, that he was to be used to make an attempt on the Tower Bridge.’

Colonel Kershaw sighed. He looked out of the window, and began drumming on the table with his fingers, his eyes apparently fixed on the Civil Service buildings on the other side of Burlington Gardens.

‘And then, on Saturday last, Box, it all began to go wrong. Grunwalski walked into a police trap, and was taken into custody. I think it’s your turn now to tell
me
a few things.’

‘Sir,’ said Box, ‘when Grunwalski set up his stall in Bethnal Green, he found himself on the patch of my friend Inspector Fitzgerald of “J” Division. Mr Fitz, we call him. He saw through your man Grunwalski at once, I’m afraid. He knew he wasn’t a latter-day Fenian, and he suspected that the man rang false. And so, he—’

Box stopped speaking. Was it in order for him to betray Mr Fitz’s peculiar ways of working to Kershaw?

‘He what, man? Come, now, tell me what he did!’

‘Mr Fitz uses unorthodox ways of working, sir, ways that will get him into serious trouble one of these days. He employs a group of sneak-thieves whom he pays out of his own money to do jobs for him. The “light fantastic boys”, he calls them. It was the boys who carried out an illegal search of Grunwalski’s
premises
and uncovered all his written arrangements for the attempt on the bridge – diagrams, maps, notes. Mr Fitz read them, and had them put back where the boys had found them, but after Grunwalski was arrested, he brought them all to me at King James’s Rents.’

‘And what did you think of all those notes and diagrams, Box?’

‘I thought that they were signs that there were accomplices of these anarchists in the bridge engineer’s office. Later this week, I would have asked Mr Mackharness to make enquiries. But now I see that the plans must have been provided by the engineers at your request.’

‘You’re right, Box. Did you see the drawing of the bomb? That was designed with the idea of confusing investigators as to its origin. A very eclectic kind of bomb. Did you like it? It was built at Woolwich Arsenal.’

‘Yes, sir, it was very nice. Perhaps I should tell you now exactly what took place at the bridge last Saturday, sir, though of course
you already know that the bomb had been deliberately built not to explode. Let me tell you now what happened….’

After Box had finished his account of Saturday’s events, Colonel Kershaw sat in silence for what seemed like minutes. His mild face betrayed no emotion, but Box saw how his eyes gleamed with something approaching excitement.

‘Mr Fitz, you say?’ he asked at last. ‘Inspector Fitzgerald? What kind of a man is he, Box?’

‘He’s a very patriotic man, sir,’ Box replied. ‘It’s his hatred of traitors and the like that first got him to break the law in pursuing his official enquiries. He’s an expert on the Fenian outrages.’

‘Is he? Is he really? And he’s not above bending the law a little to meet his requirements? Well, well. Very interesting. I’ll bear Mr Fitz in mind.’

‘And what will you do about Grunwalski now, sir? Whatever his showing at Tower Bridge, his masters thought highly enough of him to blow up a police station in order to free him. There was something he did there that pleased them mightily.’

‘Do you know what I think happened there, Box? I think the whole attack on the bridge was a
rehearsal,
a rehearsal for
something
quite different! The bomb was never meant to go off, of course, but Grunwalski
was
meant to sprint like mad up the incline, drawing that pistol which I stole for him, and brandishing it in the air.’

‘A rehearsal! Well done, sir!’ cried Box. ‘And perhaps it was also a test of Grunwalski’s courage. So we may be faced with an attempt on the life of the Tsar by a solitary pistol shot—’

‘Very possibly dressed up as an intended bomb outrage. But now, you see, I’ve lost all contact with Grunwalski. I don’t know where he is, what he’s doing, or who it was that freed him from captivity.’

‘I think you’ll find, sir,’ said Box, with a thrill of pleasure, ‘that the people responsible are that very group of conspirators mentioned by Paul Claus – The Thirty. Monsieur Rosanski spoke
about them, and he was going to tell me who they were on Sunday afternoon. That’s why he was murdered, sir, to keep the identity of The Thirty hidden from the light of day. Some at least of those people are here, in London.’

Arnold Box enjoyed Kershaw’s air of bewilderment. It wasn’t often that he was able to produce that effect. He reached into his waistcoat pocket, took out the Polish coin, and handed it to Kershaw.

‘That coin, sir, a Polish coin for thirty kopeks, is probably used as a kind of passport by the members of this Polish conspiracy. That particular coin was found among Grunwalski’s effects.’

Kershaw examined the coin briefly, and handed it back to Box.

‘Well, I’m damned!’ said Colonel Kershaw, and rose from the table. Evidently it was time for them to go. ‘We’ll meet again soon, Box,’ he said, ‘because I think there are more things for us to discuss about this business. You know where to find me. The Thirty…. Well, we must do something about them.’

‘And we must do all we can to snatch Grunwalski back—’

‘Oh, no, Box. I don’t want Grunwalski back: I want him to go on with his anarchist’s mission unimpeded. He knows what to do when the moment of crisis arrives. But I don’t know where he is, and I don’t know how to follow his progress. But if
you
find him, let me know, but leave him to go quietly on his way. Incidentally, I mentioned your name to him as a possible contact in time of emergency, so something might come of that. I hope you don’t mind?’

‘Not at all, sir.’

So the old fox had known all along that he, Box, would agree to work with him once more!

‘Incidentally, sir,’ said Box, ‘there is a man, another mysterious individual, who has appeared on the periphery of this business. I saw him at the bridge on Saturday, peering through a telescope at the boiler rooms. He’s a big, Viking sort of man, with flowing hair, a magnificent beard, and a monocle—’

‘Ah! That’s a perfect description of a man called Baron Augustyniak, a Polish nobleman who has settled recently in a mansion out at St John’s Wood. He’s come to England, so it’s said, to establish a Polish library and cultural institute, whatever that is. We’re very interested in the good baron – me, and the Foreign Office, you know. I know nothing of the man, or whether his mission here is genuine, but I intend to find out very soon. I think I know the ideal person to come up with some interesting
information
about the baron.’

‘Augustyniak…. It’s quite a memorable name, sir.’

‘Yes, it is. And, as I say, there are ways of keeping a cautious eye and ear on people like him. What was he doing near the bridge on Saturday? Was he waiting to see if Grunwalski was successful? It certainly looks like it. If I find out anything of interest, I’ll let you know by word of mouth. As you know, I never write anything to anybody.’

Colonel Kershaw picked up his hat and cane, nodded in friendly fashion to Box, and swiftly left through a door half hidden by a screen at the far end of the room. Box heard the lock of the storeroom door click open, and within the minute he was out in the open again, in the crowded thoroughfare of Piccadilly.

Vanessa Drake sat in a chair at the window of her little
sitting-room
, and looked out at the pitched roofs and pinnacles of Westminster Abbey. A copy of
The
Graphic
lay open across her knees, but her mind was elsewhere. She was thinking of Sunday’s outing to Hampstead Heath, and her mistaken conviction that Jack Knollys was going to name the day. He’d come very near to it when they were having tea at Jack Straw’s Castle, but had then taken fright, and hurried her back to the train.

Never mind! There was plenty of time yet. Jack had his way to make in the Metropolitan Police, and she was content to live quietly in this former Anglican convent, skilfully adapted as
apartments
for single young ladies. It was conveniently near to Watts &
Co., where she plied her needle patiently in the embroidery department.

Content? No! She was
not
content. Why had life become so dull and uneventful? There was a time when she had risked danger and death in the service of Colonel Kershaw and his secret intelligence organization. On one of those occasions, she had been within seconds of death. But now….

There came a knock on the door, and a moment later Colonel Kershaw himself walked into the room. He had once told her not to stand up for him in her own home, but she was quite unable to prevent herself from springing up from her chair with an
exclamation
of delight.

Colonel Kershaw was wearing civilian clothing, and made no attempt to take off his long dark overcoat with the astrakhan collar, because, as she knew, he always liked to create the fiction that he had simply called on her quite fortuitously in passing. He sat down at the table, peeled off his black suede gloves, and deposited them in his silk hat.

‘Well, missy,’ he said, ‘and how are you today?’

‘I’m very well, thank you, sir.’

‘Excellent. I’m glad to hear it. Your jaunt out to Hampstead evidently did you good. No, I wasn’t there myself, Miss Drake, but somebody I know saw you there with Sergeant Knollys. People are always coming to tell me things, you know. Now, if I were to inform you that I have something interesting going forward at the moment, would you care to be associated with it?’

‘Oh, yes, sir!’

Vanessa made no attempt to conceal her delight. She saw Kershaw smile with affectionate good humour. He was always amused and gratified, she thought, by her unconcealed
enthusiasm
.

‘What I want you to do, Miss Drake,’ said Kershaw, ‘is to take up a position as one of two housemaids at the residence of a Polish aristocratic gentleman in St John’s Wood. You’ve no objection, I
take it, to turning yourself into a servant for a while? No, I thought not. The gentleman’s name is Baron Augustyniak – no, don’t write it down, missy, just try to remember it. Augustyniak. We never write down anything in our organization, so there’s nothing for our enemies to read.’